Wild Wild West 1. Recap & Act Three

**The Night of the Raven Redux**

Thanks to Lucky Ladybug and Cal Gal for the plot bunny — and maybe a few details as well. :-) Thanks also to my son The Nerd for the input on the technobabble.

_To recap:_

_Dr Loveless has kidnapped an Indian princess in order to lure Jim and Artie into his latest trap. Princess Wanakee's father and fiancé give Our Heroes three days to restore her to her people before retribution begins. Jim (and Artie as well, apparently) obligingly lets himself be captured and taken to the place where the princess is being held._

_After a fight-filled escape attempt, Jim, to prevent Loveless from killing the princess, gives the _*ahem* _good doctor his word that he and Artie will not try to escape again._

_Dr Loveless has invented a white powder that will cause whoever breathes it to shrink down to a mere six inches tall. Loveless makes a cigar with the powder in it and offers the cigar to Jim. After a few puffs, Jim collapses in Artie's arms, only to wake up in the world's largest bedroom._

_Jim uses the bed sheet to slide down to the floor and is in the act of trying to get out of the room when Dr Loveless shows up. He has a cat, and Antoinette is carrying a dollhouse with a large window in its roof. She sets the dollhouse on the bedside table, then Loveless takes up Jim, opens the roof of the dollhouse, and puts him inside. Jim drops to the floor, looks around, and sees…_

"Artie!"

With a chagrined look on his face, Jim's partner gave a little wave from the corner where he was crouching — no doubt to avoid being thrown all over the otherwise-empty dollhouse while Antoinette had been carrying it.

"Hey, Jim," said Artie sheepishly as Jim hurried over to give him a hand up. From outside the dollhouse they could hear the sound of the door being shut and locked, then two sets of footsteps moving away.

"Now I know you didn't accept a smoke from Dr Loveless, Artie — not after what happened to me!"

"Well… keep in mind I _did _let myself be captured after that window slammed shut behind you, trapping you here in Dr Loveless' house. But no, no cigar. It couldn't have been in the food either, since I didn't trust anything they gave us after you collapsed. Now…" He paused, considering, and waggled a finger in the air to help him think. "I remember walking over to that washstand they had by the door. I was dipping up some water to take to Princess Wanakee, and… Yes, and I heard the door open, so I turned to look. All I saw was a cloud of white powder and a vague impression of a face beyond it wearing a mask over his mouth and nose." He thought a bit longer, then shrugged. "That's the last thing I saw before I woke up inside this glorified toy-box and saw Antoinette peering down at me through the window there." He nodded toward the large diamond-shaped window above their heads.

"And the girl?"

Artie shook his head. "I have no idea what's become of Princess Wanakee." He gave a sudden chuckle. "Say, you don't suppose we could convince Loveless to let the princess play tea party with us, hmm?"

Jim shot him a look.

"Well, it would get all three of us back in the same place again!" Artie added. He looked up at the large window. "Hey, Jim, how tall do you suppose we are now?"

"Small enough that Dr Loveless' cat is bigger than a horse in comparison."

"Huh. So what do we do now?"

Jim gazed up at the window. "I gave him my word we wouldn't try to escape…"

"Yeah, and this is how Loveless repays your integrity! You know, we don't have much time left before Chief War Eagle lets his warriors off the leash, and an even harder task than usual at getting anywhere, considering our, uh… current condition." He spread his hands, calling attention to their size.

"I promised we wouldn't try to escape," Jim reiterated, "but I'd say as long as we're not trying to flee the main house itself, technically that's not escaping, is it?" He glanced at Artie, a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, I like the way you think!"

Jim turned his attention to the window in the roof once more. It wasn't the only window in the dollhouse; there were several little round holes in the walls, apparently to give the occupants plenty of fresh air, but they were uniformly too small for either agent to squirm through.

"Bars on both sides of that window," Artie pointed out. "Almost as if Loveless intended them to be used as handholds."

Jim smirked. "Almost," he agreed. Then he gathered himself and leapt up, catching hold of the bars. A moment later he was sitting on the roof, looking around. "They left the cat in here, Artie."

"Oh? Where?" He pressed his face to one of the little windows and peered out.

"On the bed. It seems to be napping." Jim patted his clothing and frowned. "Hey, Artie. You got a rope on you?"

"I did when we left the train, yeah." Artie checked one of his favorite hidden pockets. "Here you go!" He pulled out the coil of rope and tossed it up to Jim.

"Got it." Jim uncoiled it and tied an end onto one of the bars. "Come on up," he said, dangling the rest down to Artie.

Shortly both men were on the roof. Artie frowned and jerked a thumb at the clothes rack on the other side of the bed. "Hey, what's with the bolero suit, extra giant?" he asked.

Jim touched the suit he was currently wearing. "I assume that's my real outfit, and this is the miniature Loveless said Antoinette made for my new self to wear."

"Really?" Artie looked down at his own clothes. "If that's the case, I really don't want to know who dressed us in the new suits after we were shrunken — although it might explain why Loveless' girlfriend was being so very flirtatious when she lit your cigar."

"Artie…"

"Hmm… Hey, look at this!" Artie reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the lockpick he'd used on the jail cell door earlier. "What's this doing here?"

Jim took it and looked it over. It was exactly the same gadget, complete with extendable tip. "Would Loveless really duplicate something like this?"

"Or for that matter, like this?" From another hidden pocket, Artie produced a small glass orb that fit easily within his palm.

"Smoke grenade?" said Jim.

Artie nodded. "Of the knock-out gas variety. I have a couple more of them too. What gives?"

Jim shrugged. "Well, we know that Dr Loveless has an aversion to searching his guests."

"Yeah, and it's gotten him in trouble before — with us!"

"And yet…" Jim glanced at the giant suit again. "What happened here? Did my suit shrink with me and they made that giant one to play games with my mind? Or is that my suit, in which case, why did your suit shrink with you?"

Artie gave a chuckle. "Your guess is as good as mine, pal!"

Jim continued to eye the large suit, gears plainly meshing away inside his head. "I want to get over there."

"Why?"

"Because if that is my suit, we might be able to raid my pockets and even out the odds that are against us."

Artie's eyebrows shot up. "All right," he said agreeably. "So what are we going to do about Mr Whiskers there?" He jerked his chin toward the cat.

"According to Dr Loveless, it's Miss Whiskers."

"Yeah, well, perhaps the good doctor needs to get his eyes checked, because I can see the wrong end of the cat from here, and that ain't no queen!"

Jim chuckled. "Queen?"

"Yeah, the proper term for a she-cat. And _that_, my friend, is unmistakably a tom. The, uh, proper term for…"

"…for a he-cat; I know." Jim rubbed at his mouth meditatively, looking over the situation.

Artie coiled up the rope and nudged Jim's arm. "Do you want to use this to tie up the cat?"

"No. For one thing I don't think we have enough rope, and for another, I don't think we'd be able to overpower our tabby friend and keep him immobilized long enough to get all four legs trussed up. However…" He looked down and spotted the plain white knobs on the drawer just under the edge of the table. "We should be able to unscrew one of those, right?"

Artie frowned. "Yeah. Why?"

Jim took the smoke grenade from Artie's hand and tucked it into a pocket. "Because our friend Mr Whiskers there could use a little exercise. Don't you think so?"

…

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Artie replied.

"On three."

Artie counted off the seconds silently, then cupped his hands around his mouth and cut loose with, "Here, kitty, kitty!"

Mr Whiskers popped up his head and looked all around. At that instant, Jim threw one of the drawer pulls, launching it across the room. It bounced off the carpet and rolled away under a dresser.

With an enthusiastic "_Mrrow!_" the cat leapt off the bed and charged after the little knob. His tail lashed as he shoved the upper half of his body up under the dresser, lunging with his forepaws, trying to fish out the enticing bauble.

"Go!"

Both men jumped across to the bed, Jim with their rope draped over his shoulder. While Artie kept an eye on what Mr Whiskers was up to, Jim made a running loop in the rope and used it to lasso the top of the rack the giant suit was hanging on. Quickly he shinned up and started ransacking the pockets.

"This is my suit, all right," he called.

"Anything of use?"

"Of use, probably. The real question, though…"

"…is how can we carry it away. Yeah, I've been thinking about that. You've got a handkerchief there, don't you?"

"The size of a bed sheet."

"Bed sheet?" Artie glanced his way, a twinkle in his eye, and patted the quilt he was standing on.

"You know what I mean," Jim replied. _"Artie, look out!"_

"Hmm?" Artie whirled.

"_Mrrow!" _Mr Whiskers suddenly vaulted onto the bed, took a look at the strange sight of a man the size of a doll, and smacked at Artie with his paw, knocking him over.

Artie scrambled back as fast as he could, eyes wide, doing his best to keep out of the way of the swatting paws that might at any second unsheathe slashing claws.

"Artie, this way!"

Jim didn't have to holler twice. Artie clambered up and raced as best he could across the spongy mattress, heading towards Jim.

Something large and white billowed down over him, enveloping Artie completely. "Stay there!" Jim called, and he yanked from his pocket the smoke grenade Artie had given him minutes earlier. He caught his breath quickly, pulled the pin from the grenade, and lobbed it at the cat.

Artie stuck his head out from under the cloth — Jim's handkerchief, he realized — saw the flash as the smoke grenade erupted, spewing out magenta fumes right under Mr Whiskers' chin, and instantly ducked back under the cloth.

The cat, startled, batted at the smoke grenade, then leaned in close and nosed at it. That was it for Mr Whiskers! He reeled on his four paws, his tail lashing, then toppled over onto his side.

Artie peeked out again, the edge of the handkerchief clamped over his mouth and nose.

"He'll recover from that all right, I hope," Jim commented.

Artie waved the rest of the tendrils of smoke away before answering, "Yeah, he'll be fine. He's breathing, see?" The agent crawled out from under the giant handkerchief, surveyed it critically, then pulled out the lockpick and began using it to divide the cloth into four smaller squares.

While he was at work, above his head Jim was busy raiding the suit and dropped his gleanings onto the bed around Artie. Cufflinks, buttons, his own lockpick and collar knife, all rained down onto the bed. Artie divided the objects into four piles and bundled as many of them as he could into the squares of cloth.

"What about this?"

Artie looked up to see Jim holding a tear-gas bomb that was nearly as big as he was. "Yikes! Don't drop that!" Artie hollered.

"Oops!"

Artie dove for the pillow and burrowed under it, waiting for the _boom_.

No _boom_. He peeked out again to see Jim grinning down at him, the tear-gas bomb still safely in his grip. He returned it to a pocket of the giant suit, then pulled loose the ascot that went with the suit and turned it into a sling. Gently he used it to lower the tear-gas bomb to the bedspread.

"And what do you have in mind for that?" asked Artie.

Jim smiled enigmatically as he followed the bomb down to the bed, then released the rope from the clothing rack. "See that over there?" he said, now using the rope to let the bomb all the way down to bump gently onto the floor.

Artie followed Jim's eyes and spotted a large mouse hole in the wall facing them. "Yeah?"

Jim used the edge of the bedspread to slide down to the floor, then set out rolling the bomb into the mouse hole. "We might find a use for it."

Working quickly, they lowered the four parcels to the floor as well and carried them all across to the mouse hole. They then divided the rope in two and set about using it to turn the parcels into backpacks. When that was done, Artie took Jim's lockpick in one hand, the collar knife in the other. "Which do you want?" he asked.

Jim eyed them. "I'd prefer to have both. You already have a lockpick."

"Yeah, and very useful it will be on locks the size of my head! You know, really, right now we could just stick our hands up inside the locks to pick 'em."

"Provided we can get up high enough to reach the locks."

"True."

Jim made a decision. "All right. You keep my lockpick. It might not be practical as a pick, but it's bigger than yours and more useful at least."

"And you'll take the knife?" It was nearly as tall as Jim.

"Mm-hmm. Where'd we leave the ascot?"

Shortly afterwards both men were ready. Jim, with Artie's help, had turned the large ascot into an impromptu sheath for the collar knife, which was now tucked across his back under two of the four parcels; these had been rigged around his arms into a double backpack. Artie was wearing the other two parcels, and was still regarding the tear-gas bomb. "What are we going to do with you?" he murmured at it. "Hey, how about this, Jim? We could…"

The sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted them. Instantly the agents flattened themselves against either side of the opening of the mouse hole, then peered cautiously out.

The door opened and Dr Loveless strolled in, Antoinette just behind him. "Dinner is served, gentlemen!" the little doctor crowed happily. "No need for you to dress for dinner, however," he added with a giggle. "Especially considering you haven't any other outfits into which to change!" He turned and shared his merriment with Antoinette. If the agents weren't expected to change for dinner, the doctor was certainly dressed to the nines, and Antoinette even more so, in a fur-trimmed off-the-shoulder number in gold satin.

Loveless stretched up and flung open the roof of the dollhouse. "Come along now, gentlemen!" he called.

Antoinette, with her better vantage on the interior of the dollhouse, gasped. "Miguelito! They aren't there!"

"_What?" _He gestured impatiently for her to pick up the dollhouse and set it on the floor. Sure enough, it was empty. "What?" he said again. "But, but where…?" He glared around, and his eyes lit on the cat lying peacefully atop the bed. "Oh, you darn cat! You were supposed to be guarding those insufferable Secret Service men, darn you, Pussycat! You…!" He snatched up the cat, only to have it flop in his arms.

"A-antoinette, wh-what's wrong with Pussycat?" he exclaimed in shock. He thrust the animal into her arms, then peered at the bedspread. "Look! There's… there's some sort of…" He brushed gently at the cover. "…of debris here. Something very small was broken." He lifted a tiny shard of glass and delicately sniffed of it. "Gas! Knock-out gas!"

"Knock-out gas!" Antoinette echoed. "But how could that be?"

Loveless lifted his eyes and glowered at the suit hanging beyond the bed. "_That's_ how!" he stormed. "His suit, with all those confounded gadgets Mr West always carries on him! Oh, I never should have let you talk me into hanging that suit up there for West to see how far the mighty had fallen!"

"Me? Miguelito, it was _your _idea to put that suit there, not mine!"

"Oh… Never mind!" He looked around, frowning. "If they aren't in the dollhouse anymore, they can't possibly have left this room, can they?" His eyes lit on the mouse hole. "Or can they?" He glanced at Antoinette. "How's the cat?"

Pussycat was stirring in the woman's arms and gave out a sleepy _"Mrrow?"_

"Good," Loveless said loudly, talking more to the mouse hole than to his companion. "Then our after-banquet entertainment isn't spoiled after all. It won't be quite the same, of course, but the games in the arena shall go forth — with the minor change that, instead of Pussycat meeting with _Messieurs _West and Gordon, she will have to content herself with facing the little princess, hmm?" Beaming, he reached over and petted the cat fondly. "I'm afraid it will be a heartbreakingly brief entertainment, of course. And what a pity that muscle-headed Chawtaw won't be present to witness how well his little sweetheart stands up to this ferocious beast!"

"How well," Antoinette laughed. "Or how poorly!"

"Exactly, my dear, exactly!"

As the merry pair chortled together, Jim turned a look toward Artie, and they conferred together briefly.

"Now, as for _you_, Mr West!" Loveless suddenly called out ringingly. He strode over to the mouse hole, taking a big black eight-ball from his pocket. "You're being a very naughty boy. But I do hope you enjoy playing billiards!" Loveless placed the eight-ball on the floor, aimed it, then gave it a hard shove into the mouse hole.

Straight at the tear-gas bomb still lying just inside the hole! Jim and Artie each gulped a hasty lungful of air and darted out of the way of the billiard ball. In it rolled and _crack!_

White gas billowed out of the broken bomb. Artie ran deeper into the twisting passageways within the wall, yanking his handkerchief from his pocket to protect his eyes from his own lachrymatory concoction. At the same time, even as Loveless and Antoinette shrieked and rushed from the room, Jim charged through the cloud of gas and caught hold of the hem of Antoinette's dress. Swiftly he climbed up a foot or two, then twitched the cloth around himself, hiding within the golden satin of her generous skirt.

…

Find Dr Loveless' lab, Jim had told Artie. Find the white powder that made them small, and try to find as well the antidote. There had to be one; Loveless was too proud to make something so devastating without also preparing its opposite number, Jim had said. And Artie concurred: Loveless the genius would be sure to have an antidote on hand both to wave it under Jim's nose and brag, as well as to be able to restore himself just in case of an accident.

And Artie would be well pleased to arrange for just such an accident.

But before he could find the doctor's lab, first Artie had to find his way out of these walls! He wandered along, coming upon one intersection after another. "Who built this place, anyway?" he muttered to himself. It was almost impossible to make sense of what sort of rooms these walls were enclosing. He rounded a corner and…

Oh.

"Spiders," he grumbled. "Why does it have to be spiders?" For a large spider web was blocking his way. He drew closer to it, studied it, then used Jim's lockpick to knock the strands loose from the wall all along one edge.

A hissing sound above his head drew his attention. A huge spider, furry, with bands of black and orange on its legs, was dropping down from the ceiling right at him!

**End of Act Three Freeze Frame  
**_(just like in the episode, except with Artie, not Jim)_


	2. Act Four

**Act Four**

Artie stared up in wide-eyed horror at the monstrous form of the giant spider descending towards him. Then he darted under the spider web and got out of there as fast as possible. It was only when he reached the next corner that he stopped running and looked back.

Ugh, the nasty thing was following him! Artie hurriedly rounded the corner…

And yanked himself to a halt. Just beyond this corner lay a giant mousetrap, completely filling the narrow passageway from side to side, leaving him no room to sidle past it. And he tried, too. The least jostle, though, nearly set it off, and the last thing he wanted was to have that spring-powered wire snap closed on him. It would likely break his back!

Artie peeked around the corner again. Oh, of course. Ol' Hairy Legs was still on his way, about halfway along the passage now. "You couldn't just give up, could you?" Artie muttered. "And never mind the fact that this mousetrap can't possibly be here! What did they do, set it when they were building the house?" he complained as he studied the mechanism, looking for a way around it. "I mean, this thing is deep within the inside of the walls! There's no way for a human hand to reach in and place it here!"

The mousetrap stubbornly refused to dissipate, even in the face of Artie's logic.

"Hmm." Well, there was more than one way to deal with a mousetrap, right? Using Jim's lockpick, Artie carefully lifted the nearest end of the trap about an inch off the floor, then dropped it, jumping back as he did so.

_SNAP! _The trap sprang, the large bit of cheese flying out of it, the wire of the trap closing — thank goodness! — on nothing. Artie scrambled back to his feet and glanced back down the crossing passage.

Yep, the spider was still on its way. Artie started to heave the piece of cheese at the furry monster, then thought better of it. "No… Let 'im come, let 'im come," he murmured to himself. Bypassing the sprung trap quickly, he carefully — and with a good bit of grunting — pulled the spring-loaded wire back around, then engaged the tongue of the trap. "There! Reset and ready to… Oh, and just in time!"

For Hairy Legs now at last put in its appearance. The huge spider came around the corner, spotted Artie on the other side of the mousetrap, and started hissing again, waving its legs in the air.

"Hello, Ugly!" Artie called. "So good to see you again. What are you doing, looking for supper?" He spread out his arms. "Well, here I am! What are you gonna do about that, hmm?"

The spider reared up, its front legs lashing over its head.

"Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, Stupid!" Artie hollered. "Man, you're so dumb, you couldn't count to eight even if you had a mirror to see yourself in!" He stuck his thumbs in his ears and waggled his fingers.

Hairy Legs hissed, reared up once again, and charged forward.

_SNAP!_

Ick, what a grisly sight! Artie shuddered as he watched long enough to be sure the spider had met its Maker, then turned and hurried off.

…

It had been a bumpy ride in Antoinette's skirt at first, but by the time the pair reached the stairs and headed down, they had recovered their composure. As they arrived on the ground floor, Loveless snapped his fingers, calling over one of his minions. "Take Pussycat to the garden room," he ordered. "We shall be there shortly. Oh, and no supper for Pussycat! She mustn't lose her, ah…" He snickered. "…competitive edge."

Loveless and Antoinette dissolved in giggles for a few moments. As the minion turned to carry the cat away, the good doctor added, "And be sure to keep an eye out for our guests! _Messieurs _West and Gordon may also be arriving in the garden room shortly, you know!"

The minion nodded and headed across the hall as Loveless and Antoinette strolled off to the dining room, still completely unaware of the passenger riding within her golden skirt.

…

A few bends further on, Artie found a section of wooden wall; everything before had been brick and mortar. He surveyed the new area, taking in the open knothole high in the wall before him. It was about twice his height up from the floor. Just to the left of the opening was a wooden upright, and in the upright were some poorly hammered-in nails, one slightly above the knothole, a couple more close to the floor within his reach.

Hmm…

Artie shrugged off his backpack and started untying the rope.

…

A minion opened the door to the dining room and held it for the good doctor and Antoinette. Within was a harpsichord off to the right, and to the left a banquet table, beautifully set for three.

No, make that five. Upon the far end of the table stood a small table with two chairs, each the size to fit within a dollhouse. Two tiny place settings were on the table, each plate bearing a miniature meal.

And by the fireplace stood the princess, flanked by two more armed minions. As Loveless entered, Wanakee turned to face him, her eyes flashing fire. "Where are Mr West and Mr Gordon?" she demanded.

"All in good time, my dear, all in good time," said Loveless. "I'm sure they shall be, ah, popping out of the woodwork at any moment," he added, shooting a gloating look at Antoinette. "Meanwhile, a little music so improves the enjoyment of a fine meal, don't you think?"

He nodded to Antoinette and the pair moved to the harpsichord. As the princess and her unwanted guards watched the pair cross the room, none of them noticed that something small detached itself from the golden skirt and scurried under the banquet table and on to crouch behind a potted plant. Antoinette took her seat at the harpsichord and played a rippling glissando. Then she and the doctor launched into song.

…

There! The length of rope was completely untied now and Artie coiled it, then tossed the coil up and over the highest of the nails. "That's the first step," he murmured. He then tied one end of the rope securely to his packs. That done, he wound the rope around one of the lower nails and began towing on the rope, hand over hand, slowly raising the packs into the air.

"All right," he muttered. He tied a loop in the free end of the rope and stuck his arm through it, tossed a glance Heavenward in a quick prayer, then twitched the rope off the lower nail.

Instantly the packs began to descend, lifting him aloft instead! Up he went, all the way up to the highest nail. He hung there for a moment, then swung himself back and forth until he could scrabble his feet into the hole.

"Perfect!" he proclaimed. He flipped his end of the rope till the length came off the uppermost nail, then started hauling up his packs. Wanting a bit more leverage so the packs wouldn't yank him out of the hole, he took a step back…

There was no step back. Artie found himself falling, falling — wait, no, _sliding! _He was in some sort of long narrow tube, and down he slid through the darkness, the forgotten rope still held tightly in his hand.

…

As the close harmony continued, a small figure in blue slipped from behind the potted plant and climbed, calling no attention to himself, up onto the table.

Loveless and Antoinette at last ended their song, smiling at each other, tapping their foreheads together fondly. Princess Wanakee showed her appreciation with slow sarcastic applause. "And Mr West and Mr Gordon?" she asked pointedly.

"Don't be so impatient!" Loveless snapped. Then, becoming the gracious host once more, he waved a hand toward the table. "Come and dine, my dear, and forget all your troubles."

"_You _are the foremost of my troubles!" she snapped in return. Still, she sat at the table — primarily because one of her guards gripped her arm and insisted. Loveless himself poured her a glass of wine, then watched assiduously as she lifted it toward her lips.

Someone else was watching too, from between a lidded platter and the floral centerpiece. Watching — and fishing a little surprise out of the packs on his back.

…

Abruptly the darkness of the tube gave way to the brightness of a room. Artie landed hard on his keister, then slowly came to his feet.

Too slowly. Suddenly down the tube behind him came his backpacks and bowled him right off his feet.

Again he stood up, and now he turned about, getting an idea of his surroundings. He was in a small room, roofless, the shape of a regular octagon, an upright stake fixed in the floor a little distance from the hole by which he had entered. The walls of this octagonal room were perhaps three times his height, and beyond them he could see a larger room, a full-sized room — a library he surmised, judging by the bookcases built into the walls.

There was no one here as far as he could tell, but that could change at any moment. Now. How to get out? The walls of this small room were too tall for him to scale them, nor did he see anything on which he could hook his rope to climb out. He did, however, see a long tube descending from the ceiling to apparently connect to the hole out of which he'd tumbled.

"I came down _that?" _Artie shuddered.

Before he could do or think anything more, he discovered he was not alone in the greater room after all. With a plaintive "_Mrrow!" _the orange form of Mr Whiskers appeared atop the wall of the small octagonal area and peered down inside. Instantly Artie scrambled back into the hole from which he'd entered, hauling his rope and packs in after him. He crouched within, peering out to keep an eye on the cat.

This became much easier a moment later, for Mr Whiskers leapt down into the arena, his gaze fixed intently on the hole in its wall. "_Mrrow?"_

As Artie did his best to climb back up the tube he'd come hurtling down, the cat crouched before the hole and poked a paw inside, trying to get a claw on the strange creature hiding in the darkness. Mr Whiskers lashed his tail and let out a yowl.

"Oh, shut up, you mangy mouser!" growled a voice. Suddenly one of Loveless' interchangeable minions loomed up over the arena. He grabbed the cat and yanked him away from the hole. The next moment Artie heard a thump and a hiss of feline displeasure. "Shut up, cat," the minion's voice went on, "or I'll feed you to them plants there!"

What? Feed a cat to plants? What sort of…? Ah! Jim had said something about some odd plants to which he had seen the little doctor hand-feed bits of meat. "Hmph," Artie muttered softly. "Trust Loveless to have on hand the world's largest Venus Flytraps!"

Again there was a yowl as Mr Whiskers leapt once more into the arena. He prowled back and forth before the hole, switching his tail, glaring at the prey he so longed to lay his paws on.

"Dang cat!" The minion snatched Mr Whiskers back out of the arena and out of Artie's sight. "Never could abide cats," the minion grumbled to himself. "Noisy and nosy, and pigheaded to boot!"

Inside the hole, Artie started to mutter something about knowing now how a mouse felt, then slammed his mouth shut. Of course! Cats had far better hearing than people. He needed to stop talking!

And the other thing he needed was to get out of here, one way or another. Artie quietly opened one of his packs and felt around until he found one of Jim's buttons. Good ol' acid-filled buttons! Normally he would be able to simply squeeze the button to break it open and release the acid, but not now. He needed something he could use to cut open the button…

"Ah, yes, lockpick. _Other _lockpick," Artie murmured to himself, then winced that he'd forgotten already to keep his big mouth shut. From his jacket pocket he fetched out his tiny lockpick and used it to stab the button several times. There! He set down the button cut-side downwards and began stamping on it, releasing the acid onto the floor of the tube.

Curls of wispy smoke spiraled up as the acid went to work. Artie retreated further up the tube and pressed a small gas mask from one of his many pockets over his face lest he breathe the noxious fumes. And while he waited, he set about reattaching the ropes to his packs to be ready to move once the acid was done eating through the floor of the tube.

…

Princess Wanakee, with no apparent suspicion, took up the glass of wine Dr Loveless had just poured for her and was about to drink from it — when her plate exploded. She jumped from her chair, spilling the wine.

She wasn't the only one to jump. Antoinette and Loveless also sprang to their feet, though in his case, the doctor did so by jumping up onto the seat of his chair. All three minions also jumped and yanked the guns from their holsters.

"It's West!" Dr Loveless announced. "He's here! Or perhaps Mr Gordon — possibly both. They always have little bombs on them. Spread out, all of you! Find him. Find him right away! But don't, ah… don't kill him. Not yet, that is." He smirked evilly.

The minions nodded and holstered their guns, then spread out to search.

"Miguelito, here he is!" cried Antoinette. She snatched the centerpiece off the table.

And, yes, there he was: James West. Loveless grinned down at him, starting to gloat.

West turned to Wanakee and commanded, "Don't eat or drink _anything! _He was trying to shrink you the same as he did to Artie and me." The next moment, before anyone could grab him, Jim took a running start and flung himself over the edge of the table.

"Get him! _Get him!" _screamed Loveless. He bounded off his chair and rushed around the table. The minions blinked for another second or two at the astonishing sight, then hurried to help.

To everyone's amazement, Jim, with his arms outspread, was using the ascot tucked under the packs on his back to lengthen his fall into a long glide. He shifted his weight left and right, swooping out of the reach of one minion after another, winding up under the harpsichord. There he tucked and rolled into a landing, came out of the roll into a dead run, and sprinted for cover.

"After him! Get him!" cried Loveless.

The minions tried; they really did. There just wasn't enough room for all three of them to follow the miniature West. They knocked into each other in their haste, then spread out again, searching the floor everywhere, upsetting all the potted plants, tossing around the furniture.

"We can't find 'im, Boss!" they admitted at last.

"Oh!" growled Loveless in frustration. "He has to be here! He can't have, have _vanished! _Look again! Look…" From the corner of his eye he noticed the rapt expression on Princess Wanakee's face, how her attention was directed upwards. He whirled and looked up as well. "There!" he cried. "The bookcase. He must have scaled it. He's there behind the… Ow!"

For a group of four books suddenly tumbled from the shelves, of which Loveless dodged three. He rubbed at the sore spot on his head, then looked up again.

He was just in time to see West launch himself into the air once more. Again the agent glided like a flying squirrel, but this time he landed in the chandelier just above Princess Wanakee's head. "Get out of here," he hissed to her. "I'll distract them. You run!"

She nodded as once again West leapt. He aimed this time for the fireplace, his collar knife drawn and tucked against his side as he spiraled down.

"Get him!" Loveless hollered again. A minion rushed in.

But the sight of James West at any size pointing a knife straight at him broke the minion's nerve. He flung up his arms to ward off the attack, and managed to smack West out of the air.

Down Jim fell! He flung the knife aside; it clipped the cowering minion on the forearm before clattering to the stone hearth.

Meanwhile Jim landed on a cushion from one of the cast-aside chairs. He bounded up, dodged under the feet of two minions, and skidded over to his knife.

The minions kept after him, trying to grab him while also trying not to step on him or kick him. For Jim's part, kicking was not off-limits, and he landed a couple of good jolts before Dr Loveless' voice rang out: "Now, now, my dear! Mustn't eat and run. Even if you _didn't _eat a bite!"

Jim whirled, as did the two minions near him, and one of them at last got a hand on Jim and snatched him up, yanking away the packs and ascot he'd been using to fly and holding him fast. Across the room near the door stood the third minion, the one with the cut on his arm, with a struggling Princess Wanakee in his clutches.

Loveless turned a gloating smile toward West, then drew a surgeon's mask over his own face. The doctor next produced a small bellows from an inside jacket pocket and strutted over toward the girl and her captor. "Sweet dreams, my dear," said Loveless smugly. He pulled the two arms of the bellows wide open, then forced them closed again, the nozzle of the bellows pointed at the princess.

From that nozzle a cloud of white dust spewed forth right into the face of the girl, scattering over the minion holding her as well. Both gasped and sneezed as the white dust invaded their lungs. The girl fell unconscious, and the man followed her a moment later.

For a minute nothing more happened. Then, before the eyes of all the others in the room, the unconscious pair began to shrink, slowly at first, then more rapidly, until for a moment it seemed as if they would never stop shrinking.

But they did. There they lay, side by side, comatose. Their clothing, Jim noted, had shrunk along with them — and that meant there was now a gun in the room just the right size for Jim to fire, though how much damage it might do was debatable. Not to mention, how he might get his hands on it.

At Loveless' side, Antoinette chuckled with glee, clapping her hands. "Oh, that was marvelous, Miguelito! I never get tired of seeing your powder at work!"

"Perhaps you shall see it work again, my dear," the doctor crooned and pointed the bellows in the direction of James West. "An interesting experiment it would make, wouldn't you agree, Mr West? To see what happens to a test subject given a second dose of my shrinking powder, hmm?"

Jim stared up at the bellows even as the man holding him suddenly thrust him out to arm's length. "Uh, Boss!" the minion cried, eyes wide.

Loveless grinned maniacally, made as if to pump the bellows again, then laughed out loud and put them away instead. "Bring them!" he ordered. "Bring them all." And to Antoinette he added with a magnificent grin. "Oh, won't Pussycat have such fun!"

…

Ah! At long last the bottom of the tube fell away. Moments later a head slowly peered out, looking this way and that. No sign of Mr Whiskers, nor of the minion either. Satisfied, Artie stowed his gas mask back in a pocket, checked the straps of his packs, then dropped through the hole he'd made.

He landed lightly and immediately flattened himself against the outer wall of the arena, his head swiveling as he kept an eye out in all directions. Still no sign of either the cat or the man.

All right. Artie took a little something out of a pocket and with that firmly in hand, he sidled to his left and peeped around the nearest corner of the octagon.

"_Mrrow?"_

Yikes!

Instantly Artie pulled the pin and lobbed the device he'd been carrying, sending it bounding across the carpet. The movement caught the cat's eye and he went leaping after it. _Pounce! _Mr Whiskers landed on the little smoke grenade with both front paws.

"That's right," Artie murmured sotto voce, "_don't _remember where you've seen something like that before — or what the old proverb has to say about the effect of curiosity on cats."

With a soft _whump _the grenade burst open, sending out its cargo of knock-out gas right under Mr Whisker's face. For the second time within as many hours, the cat reeled on all four paws, then collapsed with a plaintive yowl.

"Shut up, you fleabag!" came the voice of the minion.

Oh, _that's _where the man was! Following the grumpy sound of the man's voice, Artie went to his right and peered around the opposite corner of the arena. Yes, there sat the man — or slouched rather, his legs stretched out before him, a belligerent look upon his face. "Stupid cat!" the minion grumbled.

Artie smiled to himself. One down and one to go! After that he could try to find a way out of this room to look for Loveless' lab. He eyed the contents of the room, mentally putting together what he could see along with the surprises he knew he was carrying, formulating a plan of action to…

The door sprang open and a small parade of people entered, Loveless and Antoinette among them. The slouching minion jumped to attention.

Oops, Plan B! Artie took a swift glance around him and dove for the first port in the storm he spied: a large planter full of tall, vaguely vine-like greenery that swayed gently in a nonexistent breeze. Artie quickly got the planter between himself and everyone else in the room, then leapt up, caught hold of the rim of the planter and scrambled over it, dropping down inside to disappear into the private jungle within.

…

"Here we are!" cried out Loveless cheerfully. "Welcome back to the garden room, Mr West — although, as you can see, I've had it converted into something of a _games _room since last you were here."

Jim, from his vantage point in the grip of a minion, swept his eyes over the room, and particularly over the octagonal arena with its upright stake. "Games of the bread-and-circuses variety, I see."

"Oh, excellent!" Loveless chortled. "You always were so very quick, Mr West." Eyes glinting, the little doctor continued, "And shortly, you'll be so very _dead_." With a wave to the minion who was bearing the princess, Loveless ordered, "Tie the girl to the stake."

The minion obeyed.

"You're not being very sportsmanlike, Loveless," Jim pointed out. "The princess isn't even awake."

"True, true, and I do make it my policy not to kill anyone in his sleep. Or hers." Loveless beamed at his favorite enemy. "However she'll be coming around again shortly, never fear. The soporific effect of my shrinking powder never lasts more than a few minutes — ten or fifteen at the most — after which she shall be, ah…" He smirked. "…fair game."

"Fair game," Jim echoed disapprovingly. "While tied to a stake."

"Ah but, Mr West! She shall have a champion defending her! And that champion shall, of course, be none other than your gallant self, hmm?" Loveless chuckled, then nodded to the minion holding West and gestured toward the arena.

West was now unceremoniously, and from a great height, dumped into the octagonal arena. Jim hit the floor rolling and came right to his feet, earning delighted applause from the good doctor. "Oh, how very catlike you are, Mr West! And now we shall see how you do when pitted against a _real _cat." Loveless turned to Antoinette. "Fetch Pussycat, my dear."

Antoinette smiled in anticipation and looked around for the cat. Abruptly her smile vanished. "Mi-miguelito! Look!"

"What?" He looked where she was pointing, then hurried over to the comatose feline. "Pu-pussycat, what's wrong? What hap… Oh!" For near the fallen cat's paws the evil genius spotted the same debris he'd seen upstairs in the bedroom the previous time the cat had been knocked out today. Fuming, Loveless whirled toward the minion who'd been sent ahead with the cat. "Why didn't you tell me Mr Gordon had arrived?" he demanded.

"Huh? Gordon? I ain't seen nothing of Gordon here."

"Oh, you 'ain't seen' him," Loveless mocked. "Idiot! He _had _to have been here, right under your very nose!" The doctor glared about the room — especially up at the bookshelves — and cried out, 'Find him! Find Mr Gordon! He has to be here some place. Make yourselves useful! I want him, and I want him _now!"_

The three minions split up to search the place, one of them hurriedly handing off to Antoinette his as-yet unconscious miniaturized comrade. With a roll of her eyes, Antoinette laid the tiny man within the arena and set off to help ransack the room.

Within the planter, Artie yanked off the backpacks and hastily hid them under some fallen leaves lest the whiteness of the handkerchief from which he'd made them give him away.

As soon as no eyes were on him, Jim dodged past the comatose minion in the arena with him and ran to the stake to untie Wanakee. She sagged into his arms.

"He ain't here, Boss!" called out one of the minions.

"Then you're not searching hard enough!" Loveless growled in return. "Look everywhere! Up those shelves, under the tables, behind the curtains. In the fireplace." Suddenly losing his temper, he stamped his foot in frustration. "Oh! Must I _tell _you where to search? Have you no imaginations? If you were six inches tall, _where would you hide?"_

Jim patted Wanakee's cheeks, calling her name softly. "C'mon, princess, no time to nap. We've got to get out of here."

Her eyes fluttered open and she groaned, then looked around. "J-jim? What?" She stared at him, then at the outer room above the arena walls, finally looking down at herself. "I… He shrunk me? Just like you?"

"No time for conversation now, princess," said Jim. He glanced around, then hurried her toward the hole in the wall.

_Ka-click._

Jim whirled to see the small minion, freshly awake and aiming his gun their way. "Go!" Jim hissed. He gave Wanakee a push toward the hole, interposing himself between her and the gunman.

At least the girl didn't need to be told a second time, bless her! Wanakee ducked into the hole and started to crawl along it.

And fell through the hole out onto the floor.

The gunman grinned at West. "It's gonna be a pleasure," he said smugly, "getting' to fill you full of holes." His finger tightened on the trigger.

"You sure that will even work?" said Jim.

The gunman frowned. "Whadda you mean? It's a gun, ain't it? 'Course it'll work!"

"It's a miniaturized gun," Jim pointed out, "with miniaturized bullets. Who's to say if it'll even fire anymore after what Loveless did to it?"

"But…!" The gunman took his eyes off West to stare down at the gun.

And that was it. Instantly Jim launched into his opponent, sending the tiny gun skittering across the arena floor. The gunman landed hard with West atop him, and then the two went rolling, slugging each other with all their might.

Wanakee sprang to her feet and looked around, flattening herself against the outer wall of the arena under the hose. So many giants lumbering this way and that! Where was there a safe place for her to…? Ah!

There in the planter, from within the leaves, she saw a hand sneak out and wave to her, a hand barely bigger than her own. Mr Gordon! The princess took off running. At the same time, Artie leaned out over the planter's edge to boost the princess up.

"Miguelito! There!"

Great, thought Artie. Antoinette _would _look the wrong way at the worst possible time! He leaned out further, holding out his hand.

"Aha!" Loveless swooped down on the princess and scooped her up inside a butterfly net. "Excellent, and there's Mr Gordon as well! One of you men, grab him," he ordered.

The closest minion nodded and headed for the planter. Artie instantly dodged back deep into the foliage. And as soon as the minion got within range, _SNAP! _one of the plants lunged at him.

The minion leapt back, eyes wide.

"Marcia! You bad girl!" Loveless scolded. He held up the little net, keeping the girl within it just outside the plant's reach. "Now you let us have Mr Gordon, and I'll let you have the little princess. Hmm?" He dangled the girl tantalizingly at the carnivorous plant. And as Marcia the plant stretched out toward the succulent prize, Loveless waved the minion forward. "Get Gordon!" he hissed.

The minion sidled closer, keeping his eyes on the many fronds of the snapping plant as they swayed toward the doctor and the girl…

_BLAM! B-B-BLAM-BLAM!_

Everyone full-sized jumped in shock as a perfect barrage of explosions went off in a two-foot radius around the planter. Artemus Gordon had not been idle, raiding his backpacks and flinging some of his special surprises out into the room. One of them went off not two inches from Dr Loveless' foot, and in the confusion he fell over onto his derrière.

The butterfly net flipped from his hand and landed amongst the hungry plants.

Jim, meanwhile, hadn't been idle either. He and the shrunken minion had continued battling it out, rolling around the floor, trading blow after blow. Until, that is, the minion managed to grab up the rope that had been used to secure the princess to the stake. Rope — well, it was really no more than a length of twine, but from the perspective of men a mere six inches tall, it was a stout cord indeed. The minion rolled to his knees and snapped it at West like a bull whip, then surged to his feet and swung it again.

Jim too bounded to his feet, leaping agilely out of reach from the rope. The minion laughed and circled closer, enjoying the way West was dancing to his tune.

Except he wasn't. The minion didn't even notice that Jim was leading him closer and closer to the stake. Suddenly to the minion's surprise, instead of dodging the rope, Jim wound his arm around it as it lashed at him, his jacket protecting his arm as he took a good grip and yanked. The minion, caught off guard, lost his footing and crashed into the stake. Jim whipped the rope around him, and moments later the minion was secured to the stake. As he struggle in vain to get loose, Jim gave him a small salute and disappeared into the hole where he expected the princess to be waiting for him.

Instead he found the missing section the princess had fallen through. He also heard the sound of multiple explosions going off. Whatever was happening, Artie was in the thick of it, and so apparently was the princess Jim had promised to return safely to her father. Without a moment's hesitation Jim dropped down through the hole.

"Oh!" Loveless was fuming. "Get them! Get the girl; get Gordon…" He glanced at the arena and saw nothing within except for his final man tied to the stake in the girl's place. "…and get West as well! Get them _now!"_ The little doctor reached into the arena to release his minion.

Jim saw the butterfly net suspended among the carnivorous plants and put two and two together instantly. He raced toward the planter and vaulted into it, despite Marcia's attempt to take a bite out of him. He shinned up to the butterfly net to rescue the princess.

She wasn't there.

"Jim!" a voice hissed from below him. He looked down and saw Artie hiding in the foliage. Artie beckoned to him, then moved a leaf aside to reveal Wanakee crouched at his side. "She already climbed down on her own!" Artie called to him sotto voce.

Jim slid partway back down the stalk, then dropped the rest of the way. Quickly he and his partner conferred together, with Artie imparting to Jim the important information that he'd never reached the lab.

"We still need to find the antidote," said Jim. "And even more so, now that Wanakee is tiny as well."

"Yeah," Artie nodded. "There's just the minor inconvenience of Loveless and his minions out there trying to capture us. Well, that and the fact that we don't even know where the lab is."

"We might be able to trick Loveless into tell…" Jim broke off suddenly and rushed toward the rim of the planter. Artie, seeing what Loveless was up to, followed on Jim's heels.

"There!" said Loveless, beaming happily. "Since _certain people _have spoiled our plans for a gladiatorial exposition between man and beast, we shall have to opt instead for a duel _mano a mano_. Hmm?" He placed the miniature minion on the floor and waved the others back. "And _this_," he continued, "shall be the prize!" He reached inside his vest and pulled forth a glass vial half full of a seasick-green liquid. He jiggled the vial in midair. "Care to guess what this is, Mr West?" he cried gleefully.

Jim stepped forward to answer, and Artie caught his arm. "You know he's never going to give that to us, Jim."

"I know. Loveless plays according to his own rules, the primary one being that he does whatever he wants to, and promises be damned."

"Right," said Artie. "But you're going out there anyway, aren't you?"

Jim met his partner's eyes. "Everyone will be looking at _me_," he said.

"Ah," said Artie. "They will, won't they?" He cut his eyes toward the princess and released Jim's arm. "Good luck, James my boy."

"You think I'll need it?"

Artie gaped a second, then started to point out the obvious disadvantages of Jim's situation, only to clamp his mouth shut again, objections unsaid. Instead he simply gave his best friend a nudge on the shoulder and went to collect the princess.

Jim stepped out from under the foliage of the carnivorous plants. "I assume that's the antidote," he called clearly.

Dr Loveless chuckled. "You assume very well, my dear Mr West. This is indeed the one and only substance that will restore you to your former, er, _stature_." He grinned and shook the vial again. "And winner takes all."

Jim vaulted down out of the planter. "I have your word on that?" he said, staring up at Loveless as he walked towards him.

"My word? Why, Mr West, have you ever known me to lie to you?"

"Constantly," said Jim.

Loveless giggled. "Then you are wise to be cautious. _Get him!"_

As Loveless tucked the vial back into his pocket, all his minions — not just the shrunken one — charged at West.

"Typical Loveless," Artie groused as he helped Wanakee down to the floor on the hidden side of the planter. "Cross and double cross! I don't suppose you know a way out of this room that doesn't involve the door?"

Wanakee tore her eyes away from the sight of all those huge men rushing at Jim. "Ah… Well, yes. That golden bench over there. It spins around. That's how Jim wound up in this room when Dr Loveless threatened to kill me at once unless Jim gave his word you two wouldn't try to escape. But don't you need to help Jim right now?"

Artie's lips set into a thin line as he settled the packs on his shoulders once more. "He expects me to get you to safety while he provides this distraction." Artie surveyed the intervening expanse of carpet, and also the positions of Loveless, Antoinette, and the minions. "All right, come on!" he said and grabbed the girl's hand, then ran for the side of the arena furthest from Jim. And as they rounded the small building…

"_Mrrow?"_

Yes, there was Mr Whiskers, blocking their way.

"Oh, you _would _show up!" Artie grumbled. The last thing he needed was for that curious feline to attract someone's attention away from the fight! He also didn't want to cause another explosion in drawing off the cat, since that too would give away their position. Hmm…

He reached into his packs and grabbed one of Jim's acid-filled buttons. "Here, kitty, kitty!" he crooned, waving the button in the air. He then threw it with all his might, sending it skittering away across the carpet.

"_Mrrow!" _Mr Whiskers — thank goodness! — went bounding after it.

With a quick look around to be sure no one else was watching, Artie hissed, "All right, go!" and he and Wanakee took off racing for the bench in the alcove. They arrived without incident and Artie boosted her up. She caught hold of the upholstery and clambered the rest of the way up, then he scrambled up as well and began hunting around for whatever mechanism would cause the bench to spin around and deposit them out in the hall.

The problem was that, wherever that mechanism was, it was very well hidden.

"Now, now, get Mr West, but don't kill him!" called Loveless to his minions. "I reserve that pleasure to myself alone!" The little doctor hopped from one foot to the other as he watched the fight. The three big minions were getting into each other's way more than they were imperiling West, primarily because Jim had taken advantage of a table standing against the wall to run up under it and use it as cover to keep back his attackers.

All except for the one man his own size, of course. That man had followed Jim easily, and the two of them were now slugging it out even as the other three jockeyed for an opening to get at West.

"Miguelito! They're gone!"

Loveless spun to gape at Antoinette. She was by the planter, a poker from the fireplace in her hand to ward off Marcia and company. "Look!" she cried. "There's no one here. Mr Gordon and the princess have vanished!"

"Oh!" His face screwed into a mask of pique, Loveless spun back to glare at West. "You… you _cheated!" _he snarled.

"_I _cheated?" Jim responded, and for his moment's inattention he got a belt across the chops from the tiny minion.

"You, you malefactor! You rascal! You distracted me and my minions to let your partner and that insufferable girl escape!" His eyes glowing with fury, Loveless added, "And for that you shall pay, you, you egregious, self-righteous, heinous Secret Service man! You see this?" Loveless snatched the vial of antidote out of his pocket, glared at James West, then turned and flung the vial with all his might toward the door.

"No!" yelped the tiny minion, seeing his salvation go spinning through the air towards its destruction. And for _his _moment's inattention he got an uppercut from West that laid him out cold.

Jim took off darting toward the door. It was too late, of course. Artie on the upholstered bench looked on with a sick feeling in his heart, wishing he was his normal size so he could snatch the vial out of the air, rescue it, before it could…

_SMASH! _The glass vial splintered into dozens of pieces and rained down on the carpet, leaving most of its liquid clinging to the surface of the door while the rest of the antidote began immediately to soak into the carpet.

Jim dove for the door and skidded to a halt right by one drop of the liquid still beaded on the oriental carpet, not yet consumed by its thirsty fibers. He scooped up the drop, heedless of the smashed glass all around him, and put his hand to his mouth.

For one single disorienting moment, a wave of nausea flashed over him as his perspective shifted from crouching right on the floor to crouching at his more normal height above it. There was also a strange ripping noise, and Jim looked up to see Loveless and his minions all standing around stock-still, gaping at West with the most curious looks of horror on their faces. Antoinette even threw a hand over her eyes — and then peeked out between her fingers, a sly smile on her lips.

What was that all about? Jim glanced down.

There on the floor around him he saw little shreds of blue and white cloth, and even a few smidgens of boot leather. He also saw skin — far, _far _too much skin!

So that's what the ripping sound had been! He'd burst right out of his clothes when he'd gone back to normal, and was currently dressed in absolutely nothing!

Jim looked around again and spotted a length of decorative cloth lying on the floor. Ah, it was the table runner; it must have fallen from the table during the fighting. Jim sprang for it, snatched it up and wound it around his waist, tucking in the end of the cloth to turn it into a makeshift kilt. And the next instant, while the minions were still staring in shock, Jim launched himself at them and the fight was on again!

"What's happening?" Wanakee said crossly, batting Mr Gordon's hands away from her eyes. "What happened to Jim… Oh!" Her jaw dropped and she blushed.

Artie looked back mournfully at the shards of the vial of antidote. Jim at least was restored, but what of himself and the girl? War Eagle wasn't going to like this, and the girl's fiancé even less!

Artie blinked. Wait a minute, were his eyes playing tricks on him, or was that…?

"C'mon," he said to Wanakee. He hopped down from the bench, caught her as she followed suit, then raced toward the mess on the floor.

Loveless frowned in anxiety, watching the kilted West clobbering his minions. No! No, this wasn't supposed to be happening! He'd broken the vial and West had _still _managed to use the antidote! The little doctor gestured at Antoinette. "Come on!" he hissed. The pair ran for the golden bench, crowded into it, and flipped the release. The next moment they were out of the garden room and charging across the hall to the laboratory.

Artie sprinted for the wreckage of the vial, his eyes on one large curved shard with a couple of drops of the green liquid still pooled atop it. He fell to his knees by it and scooped up about half of it, then held it out to Wanakee. She cupped her hands for him to pour in the liquid, then raised it to her mouth as he dipped up the rest for himself. She started to drink, then gasped.

"Oh! But… but what if our clothes tear off of us as well, just like Jim's did?"

"I don't think that will happen," said Artie. "Mine shrank with me, and yours did as well, I think?"

She nodded.

"But Jim's were a special tiny suit Antoinette had made for him. Still…" He glanced around and nodded toward the curtains on the window across the room. "If worse comes to worse, we can use those." He shrugged off his packs and dropped them at his side, then lifted his hand as if proposing a toast. "_Salud_."

Both drank. Wanakee slammed her eyes shut, waiting to hear the sound of cloth ripping.

She heard nothing. There was only a brief wave of nausea that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Cautiously she opened one eye.

Mr Gordon, still perfectly clothed, grinned at her and grabbed her hand. "Better get out of the way," he said as he boosted her to her feet. A glance around showed him that the golden bench had vanished, but there was a red couch over by the window. "You go over there," he said.

"But where will you be?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Helping Jim, of course!"

Not that Jim needed much more help by now. While that length of cloth clung to his waist as if it had been glued in place, Jim chopped one man on the neck, got slugged by the next, grabbed by the third. He kicked out though, knocking back the second man — unfortunately right into Artie! As his partner hit the floor, Jim shrugged off the third man and slung him into the other two, knocking them all down. The trio tried to scramble back up, but Jim hit each man in turn, one, two, three…

And the fight was over. The minions sank into a heap together and rose no more.

Jim turned to Artie and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him to his feet. "You all right?"

"Yeah, well, I _have _felt better."

They looked around the room. "Loveless!" said Jim. Both men raced for the door.

"Mind your feet!" Artie warned. "There's still glass on the floor, and you're barefoot."

"Thanks, Artie," said Jim. They passed through the door and into the wide, foyer-like hallway beyond. They paused at the foot of the stairs and glanced up, but doubted the lab was up there. They moved on, paused once more, then arrived at the door opposite the garden room.

Jim tried the knob. "Locked," he said, and held out a hand to Artie.

"Hmm?"

"I loaned you my lockpick, remember?"

"Oh, right! I, uh…" Artie patted at his pockets fruitlessly, knowing already that the last he'd seen of the lockpick, it had been far too big to fit into any of his pockets. "I must have lost track of it back when I was inside the wall. Sorry, Jim."

"What about your own lockpick?"

"Hmm? Oh, right!" That one he found easily enough; it was exactly where he expected it to be, in an inside jacket pocket. He pulled it out and handed it over.

Jim twisted it to expose the sharp tip, then frowned. "What happened to this?"

"Hmm? Oh! I forgot! I used that to cut open one of your acid buttons. Guess the acid was a bit strong." For the tip of the lockpick was not only no longer sharp, it was no longer there, the metal of it having been completely eaten away by the acid.

Jim sighed and tossed down the ruined pick, then glanced at Artie. On a silent count of three, the two men kicked at the door. It flew open and in they rushed.

This was the lab, all right. Flasks and beakers lined one long work bench to the right, cages of birds and other creatures stood off to the left. Straight ahead, though, was an open window, and in through that open window floated the sound of Dr Loveless' familiar maniacal laughter.

The agents raced to the window and looked out. There before them was the full moon, and silhouetted against the face of the moon was a dark shape, the shape of a flying bird. Side by side the two agents stared at the bird, flying, flying, as the crazed laughter continued.

At length Jim shook his head. "I was wrong," he said. "He still surprises me."

"Yeah," said Artie. He glanced at Jim, then looked out the window again. And frowned. "Funny thing though, Jim. That bird keeps flying, but why is it constantly right in front of the moon? It should have crossed the moon by now and disappeared into the night. And besides that…" He leaned out the window and pointed up. "Look at that. I _thought _the phase of the moon tonight was gibbous instead of full!"

Sure enough, a second moon, fat but not full, sailed high above their heads. Artie stepped out through the window and reached up.

The full moon with the bird still flying across its face crumpled as Artie pulled down the screen onto which the image had been projected.

"And look at this," said Jim. He too came through the window, reaching down into the bushes to haul out a small gramophone. He touched the switch and instantly Loveless' mad cackle ceased.

Artie shook his head. "So he's tricked us again." He wadded up the projector screen and flung it on the ground. "What was all this about then?"

Jim turned the gramophone in his hands. "He wanted us to think he'd left, he and Antoinette. And if that's what he wants us to think…"

"…then the opposite is true and they're still here!" They exchanged a glance, then jumped back in through the window and proceeded to tear the room apart.

Wanakee wandered across the hall and peeked into the room with the broken door. "What are you doing?" she asked.

The man paused in their search. "Loveless and Antoinette have to be here somewhere," said Jim.

The princess pointed. "But surely they left through that window."

"No, no," said Artie and swiftly explained the subterfuge of the screen and the laughter to her. "No, they're still here somewhere," he concluded.

"Somewhere hidden," added Jim.

"They made it look like they had shrunken themselves and were riding away on the back of a raven?" asked Wanakee.

Artie nodded. "Exactly. When they really…" Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Hey, that's wild, Jim. Maybe they did shrink themselves! Maybe they've got a hiding place just big enough for six-inch-tall people!" He glanced around again.

"More like four- and five-inch-tall people in their cases," said Jim uncharitably. "If they shrunk themselves, though, wouldn't they be passed out still?"

"Oh, that's right! So they're hidden away until they awaken again." Artie snickered. "Yeah, they never would have been able to hold on to the back of that bird while the powder had them knocked out."

"Nor would Loveless have been laughing, unless it was in his sleep," Jim added. Both men started searching again, looking for a smaller place than before, touching everything that might possibly be a trigger to open a secret passage.

In the end, it was Wanakee who found it. Tiring of the search, she walked over to a cage of white doves and leaned against the wall.

_Click! _A panel of wainscoting slid back along the floor, and there inside, in perfect miniature, were the unconscious Loveless and Antoinette.

The two agents smiled and scooped up the pair. "Well, imagine that! They're under arrest for once," said Artie cheerfully.

"And I know just where to put them," said Jim. "C'mon, Artie." He left the lab and headed upstairs.

"Where are we going?" asked Artie, carrying their prisoners as he trailed after his partner.

"Up to the bedroom," said Jim.

"Oh, where the dollhouse is! Right, we'll just need to close up that large window in the roof better," said Artie.

"Yes. You can be doing that while I, uh…" Jim glanced around, making sure the princess wasn't following them.

"While you, uh, what?" Artie asked.

"While I take advantage of something else that's there in the bedroom." He gestured at his kilt. "I need to get dressed!"

**End of Act Four**


	3. Tag

**Tag**

"I still can't believe it!" Artie said as he and Jim rode along toward War Eagle's village escorting Princess Wanakee. "After all that, Loveless and Antoinette still managed to get away!"

It was true. After getting dressed again, Jim had gone downstairs with Artie to secure the rest of the minions. They had taken pity on the one shrunken man and scraped together enough of the antidote that was still clinging to the inside of the door to be able to restore him to normal size — and then arrest him, of course. But when they had returned upstairs to fetch the dollhouse, they'd found it smashed to pieces, a tiny vial with the remnants of a familiar green liquid lying among the wreckage.

"Loveless must have supplied himself with that vial before using the shrinking powder," said Jim.

"Yeah, and when they couldn't get out of the dollhouse any other way, they used the antidote on themselves and broke out that way — literally!"

Princess Wanakee, riding a horse the agents had found for her in the stables behind Loveless' house along with their own mounts, was watching ahead of them, paying little heed to their conversation as she craned to catch her first glimpse of her home and people. Suddenly, with a glad cry of "Chawtaw!" she kicked her horse into a gallop.

The two agents, after a stunned pause, did the same.

Yes, here was Chawtaw, that big surly brave. He didn't look nearly as surly at the moment though, not with his bride-to-be springing off her horse to fling herself into his arms. "Wanakee!" he exclaimed. "You are here! You are safe!" He crushed her close and gave her a long kiss, then turned, cupped a hand around his mouth, and gave a birdcall.

More braves appeared out of the bushes and brambles of the forest path, many of them with weapons in hand. Those bearing bow and arrow aimed the sharp shafts at the two agents.

"No!" cried Wanakee. "These men saved me from our enemies. They are here to bring me home!"

The warriors hesitated, looking to Chawtaw. The surly glare was back now, and for a moment the agents wondered if he would turn on them and order them executed for stealing the incipient war right out of his hands.

But then Chief War Eagle stepped out of the trees and embraced his daughter. "West has kept his word to War Eagle!" he proclaimed to his men. "My daughter is home and safe. Let us celebrate!" He smiled upon the agents and clasped their hands. "And you, West and Gordon, you shall be my honored guests."

…

The party was soon in full swing. In fact, not only was the village rejoicing over the princess' safe return, but they seemed also to be taking the opportunity to throw the wedding bash. There was singing and dancing in abundance, food and drink, laughter and rejoicing. Princess Wanakee disappeared among a crowd of the women and Chawtaw along with many of his men. Shortly both returned, dressed in their best finery, for her father to bless their union.

"Well, all's well that ends well, right, James?" said Artie.

"It would have ended better if Loveless hadn't managed to escape."

"Mm. True. Well, can't have everything." Artie shrugged philosophically and helped himself to some punch. He took a sip, then choked and sputtered.

"What's wrong, Artie?"

Artie caught his breath again and shoved the cup of his drink at Jim. "This punch! It's _punch!"_

Jim took a cautious sniff. "So?"

"I mean it's just plain fruit juice, Jim! Punch is supposed to, well, have some punch to it!"

Jim grinned. "They're Indians, Artie. Remember? It's illegal for Indians to have anything alcoholic. Federal law." He took a cup of the punch and sipped it with a smile.

Artie snorted. "Hmph. Illegal…" He took another drink of the non-drink, then gestured with the cup. "Speaking of things that just aren't right, I still don't see how Loveless was able to do what he did. I mean, shrinking us! If nothing else, it cuts right across the physical law of conservation of mass. When we got smaller, we apparently _lost mass_. How could that have happened?"

"Artie…"

"No, really, Jim. If we hadn't lost mass, we would have still weighed the same as usual. And that would have meant that we never would have been able to move! We'd have been completely out of proportion to be able to walk with these human legs. We'd have needed insect legs, or spider legs. And yet it didn't matter, did it? We got around just fine, the same as usual."

"Artie…"

"And then when we got back to normal again, suddenly our usual amount of mass was _back! _How did that happen? Where had it been in the meantime? See, Jim, it doesn't make a bit of sense! None of that could have possibly happened the way it did!"

"But it did happen, Artie," said Jim reasonably.

"I know. I know. But it's gonna eat at me until I figure out _how_."

Jim shrugged. "Oh, that's easy."

"Yeah? Really?" Artie folded his arms. "All right, let's hear that 'easy' explanation for all those laws of physics being broken and outright ignored!"

"Simplicity itself, Artie. I can explain it in one word."

"Oh? And that word is?"

Jim smiled. "Loveless."

Artie sagged. "Oh, c'mon, Jim!"

"It's like we said earlier: Loveless plays according to his own rules and does whatever he wants to. And that includes ignoring the physical laws if they dare to cross him."

"No, no, Jim! He can't just do that! He…"

"I know he can't. But the fact remains that he _does_."

"But, Jim, that's not how the real world works!"

"But where Loveless is concerned, is it really the real world anymore?"

Artie opened and shut his mouth several times, trying to work out how to refute that.

"Anyway, Artie, what do you make of this?" Jim pulled something very tiny from his pocket and passed it to his partner.

Artie set aside his punch to take it, his eyebrows climbing. "Miniature gun? Where'd this come from?"

"It belonged to that minion Loveless shrank. I convinced him it was too tiny to work, and after that he didn't even try to fire it."

"Really? It's a good thing for you he believed you."

"Mm-hmm. Because the gun would have worked just fine, I'm sure."

"Yeah. All those smoke grenades still worked." Artie turned the tiny gun over in his hands. "So if the miniature minion had shot miniature you with miniature this, it still would have packed just as much wallop as usual and… _Ow!"_

There was a miniature _BLAM! _and Artie winced.

Jim instantly set down his cup of punch. "What happened?"

"Hair trigger, I guess. And I was right; it still packs quite a… _ow!… _quite a wallop." Artie held up his hand, displaying a small hole that was leaking out blood. "You wouldn't happen to have a handkerchief on you, would you?"

Jim patted his pockets, then shook his head. "No, you cut it up to make the backpacks, remember? Oh, and I lost my ascot in all the excitement as well, or I'd let you use that to make a bandage."

"Great. Just when I need a handkerchief, I've lost track of mine too!" He glanced around, looking for some bit of cloth to tie over the wound.

"Come to think of it," Jim added pensively, "I bet if you squeezed it like a pimple, the bullet would just pop right out."

Artie shot him a glare. "Oh, ha ha ha! C'mon, Jim, help me find a bandage!"

"My friends!" came a voice. Both agents turned to see the chief of the tribe pacing majestically towards them. "West has kept his word to War Eagle," the old man said, taking Jim's hand and holding it firmly. "Wanakee has been returned safely, and now War Eagle will keep his word as well. We will not ride forth. We will not seek revenge, nor will we shed any white blood this day. This day is a day of rejoicing!"

The old chief now turned and gripped Artie's hand as well. The agent winced, marveling on the irony of the chief's proclamation against shedding white blood this day.

War Eagle frowned. "Something is wrong?" he said, instantly wary.

"Oh, no no. Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all!" said Artie quickly, blinking rapidly as he did his best to show no signs of pain lest he insult the chief. Artie shot a glance at Jim, hoping his partner would intervene and rescue him.

Nope, not a chance of it, of course not. Jim just looked on, smiling genially, so Artie pasted on a big fake smile of his own.

The chief, still gripping Artie's hand, thanked West and Gordon once more for bringing his daughter home safely.

"Oh, believe me," Artie murmured, "it was our pleasure, sir." As the chief continued to crush his fingers, Artie hoped he wouldn't faint. He also hoped that maybe, just maybe, the chief would finish being grateful and release Artie's poor aching hand. Sometime in perhaps the next, say, hour or so?

And Jim just smiled.

**THE END**


End file.

Wild Wild West, Adventure, Humor